Wicked Games (Games #1)(14)
Author: Jessica Clare

After a moment’s pause—and I had a horrible fear that he wouldn’t do me the favor—I heard him step forward, and then a soapy sponge—his—brushed across my shoulders. He swiped in quick, functional, almost rough motions. Impersonal. “So that’s why you picked me?” His voice was as neutral as his touch. “Just to f**k with the others?”

Food and showers help, I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue, remaining silent. Anything I said right now would come across as flippant, and I just wanted to concentrate on him touching me.

The sponge finished scrubbing my back, and it lifted and started over at my shoulders, moving in small, almost ticklish circles. Still washing me with soft, easy strokes.

“Abby?”

“What?” My voice grew shy, my skin prickling as my mind went wild with the thought of him standing nak*d behind me. This wasn’t going to work. I should have sent him off with another team. I should have picked someone safe like Will. I should have—

“Are you going to stand there and tell me that’s the only reason you picked me?” Dean said in a low, hoarse voice. The sponge lifted from my shoulders, and I felt nothing but the hot spray of water on my body and Dean’s intense presence behind me.

I dared to risk a glance over my shoulder, and found him standing close to me, very close. My entire body prickled with awareness, and my heart pounded. Don’t say anything, I warned myself. Don’t say anything. He can’t possibly be interested in you as a person. This is a game and he’s just going to use you to win the money.

But his fingers—not the sponge—rested along the dip of my spine, and I sucked in a breath, steeling myself. “Not the reason,” I whispered. The air seemed charged with electricity and hope, and I froze, waiting for him to tell me if I was nuts. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting.

Rough hands grabbed my shoulders and my eyes flew open as Dean whirled me around and grabbed me in his arms, and then his mouth was hot on mine, kissing me frantically. Devouring me. His lean, hard body pressed against mine, and I felt the thick erection against my stomach, even as he pressed our bodies closer together. My hands lifted, winding to his neck as my mouth pressed against his with equal fervor. His mouth nipped at mine and he sucked on my lower lip, making my breath gasp into my throat. Dean’s hands pushed me against the slick tile wall, pressing me between him and the wall itself, a cage of flesh as his arms surrounded me. I whimpered a little at the sensation, swiping at his tongue with mine and digging my fingers into his hair. It was madness, this intensity between us, nothing but water and steam and frantically kissing mouths, as if a dam had burst and the water had washed away all inhibition and doubt.

“I thought you wanted a different partner,” Dean breathed into my mouth, even as his hands slid up the sides of my br**sts. I writhed against the wall, against his chest, my hands frantically moving from his hair to his shoulders, everywhere I could touch him.

“I didn’t think you’d want to be with me,” I said, averting my face with the pretense of pressing tiny bites along the strong line of his jaw. God, I loved his jaw. Two weeks’ worth of whiskers didn’t detract from his beauty at all.

“That’s f**king stupid,” he said, grabbing my leg and hooking it over his hip. “I’ve been crazy about you ever since we got here and you glared at me like I was dirt. Couldn’t figure you out.” His mouth pressed against my neck, the words muffled, and his hand lifted my leg a little higher, his h*ps jutting forward until the full length of his erection pressed against my sex, and my breath escaped me in a shuddering gasp.

Well, that didn’t leave much to the imagination. And the reality was so much better. And bigger. I moaned against him and bit his ear, frantic.

He groaned, bucking his h*ps against me again, his fingers sliding up to flick a wet nipple. “You sure you want this? Last chance to back away,” he said, his thumb grazing my nipple, back and forth. “Look at me, Abby.”

Almost shy—despite our frantic, desperate make-out session—I lifted my eyes to his, our faces sprayed by the water of the shower.

“Do you want this?” he repeated, and a slight swivel of his h*ps left nothing to the imagination as to what he was referring to. “If you tell me to stop now, I will.”

His thumb hadn’t stopped, though. It was still teasing the peak of my breast, the slick skin rubbing back and forth in a motion that sent shockwaves up and down my body. I wanted to reach down and bite his thumb, bite his mouth, devour him whole even as he pressed against me, his wet hair plastered to his skull.

“If you stop now, I’ll never speak to you again,” I said and arched so my breast rubbed against his hand in a very deliberate fashion, the other peak brushing against his chest.

He pressed a hard, frantic kiss to my mouth and released my leg. “Wait here.” With that, he cupped my face in his hands, kissed my mouth again—softly—and left me in the shower. Dean stepped out of the shower and into the bathroom, and as I watched and waited, my arms crossed over my br**sts again, he dug through the drawers of toiletries. A small foil packet appeared a moment later, and he returned to my side as if we’d never left off, grabbing me in the circle of his arms again and pushing me back against the slick wall. His free hand locked in mine, our fingers interlaced, and he slid our twined hands up the tile until my body was arched slightly, my breast tilted into the air, and he bent over and took the peak in his mouth.

I cried out, my h*ps bucking slightly at that. “Dean!”

He bit lightly at the tip, then his hair brushed against my breast, and I heard the sound of the foil packet tearing. His hands moved away from mine for a moment—too long a moment—as he put on the condom. Then, one hand slid down my thigh, hooking my leg around his hip again, and his mouth devoured mine once more. Hard, fast, wet, his tongue thrust into my mouth. The cradle of my h*ps lay against his erection again, his h*ps circling and moving ever so slightly against my own spread legs.

“You ready, baby?” he whispered against my mouth, and I felt his hand tug at my other leg, the only thing supporting me other than the two immovable objects I was wedged between.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, biting at his lip. He growled low in his throat and lifted me off the ground, ever so slightly, my back sliding up the slippery wall. The head of his c*ck probed against me, and before I could suck in a breath, he slid me down on the hard length of it, spearing me and bracing me against his own hips.

My breath shuddered out of my throat, my arms clenching tight around his neck. Amazing. Holy God. His hands slid to my ass, and his h*ps moved slightly as if settling me against him, and the slight motion made all the breath whisper out of my throat again.

He pressed an open-mouth kiss to my lips. “Feel good?”

All I could manage was a shuddery gasp, and I dug my fingernails into his shoulders. Dean rocked his h*ps slightly again, and the small motion made friction happen in just the right places, and I gave another weak gasp.

“Abby,” he whispered against my mouth, thrusting slightly again, his fingers digging into my hips. “God, you are so f**king sexy.” Again, a small thrust and wriggle, and the pulse of friction that shot through my body. My legs locked around his hips, and I squeezed my inner muscles the next time he thrust, and he moaned against my mouth as well.

The next thrust was harder, more forceful, more friction. The next, too, and his arms were cords of steel as they locked my h*ps against his, shoving me back against the wall, thrusting slightly. Those gentle, deep thrusts were undoing me more than anything I’d ever experienced before, and it wasn’t long before my h*ps were bucking slightly against his own, increasing the friction, and I began to shudder, gasping as an orgasm ripped through me in slow, steady waves. The feeling intensified as he thrust into me again, rapidly, and I felt his strong body tremble against mine, a groan escaping his mouth as he pressed me against the wall so hard that I thought I’d sink through it. I clung to him, body slick and trembling as he finished his orgasm and slowly released my rubbery legs, sliding me back down to the ground, our bodies separating.

He wasn’t done with me, though. His hands moved to my wet hair, brushing it off my face and planting several more hot kisses on my dazed face. “I’m sorry—that didn’t last as long as I wanted it to.” Dean’s hands slid to my waist, a possessive gesture.

Was that him not at his best? His worst was better than my last boyfriend’s ‘best.’ “Short is good,” I said weakly. “The water’s getting cold.”

He pressed another possessive kiss on my mouth. “Next time we’re doing it on the bed.”

Next time? My mouth curved slightly at that… and then my stomach rumbled. He laughed and I gave a small chuckle. “Can we eat our food first?” I said in a small, plaintive voice. “That pizza looked amazing.”

We turned off the shower and his hand went to the small of my back, steering me back out of the bathroom in an intimately possessive gesture. The colorful sarongs were the only things we had to wear, so I wrapped up in one while Dean knotted the other at his waist, the fabric slinging low on his hips. Low enough to make me breathless. He caught my glance and the self-confident smile slid over his face. “There’s more for you later, baby.”

I rolled my eyes at his cocky, teasing voice, drying my hair with the towel and then discarding it on the floor. Dean moved ahead of me into the living room where the food was laid out, and it took everything I had not to race past him to get to the food first. There would be plenty for both of us, but it was hard to quell the competitive edge to my starvation.

Dean moved to the far side of the table, but instead of sitting down, he grabbed his seat-pillow and dragged it over by mine so we could sit together. He patted the pillow next to his. “Come, sit. We’ll eat our way from one side of the table to the other.”

Sounded good to me—I moved to sit next to him and curled up on my cushion, legs crossed. There was a bucket of ice and Corona nearby, and Dean pulled two beers out, twisting the cap off mine with his bare hand and then handing it to me. Quite the gentleman. I took a sip of the beer and closed my eyes. “Heaven.”

I took another sip, washing the flavor in my mouth slowly, savoring it, and looked over to see Dean doing the same. Well, sort of. His gulps were twice the size of my sips, but he had the same blissed-out expression. My stomach growled again, and the sight of all the amazing food was too much to wait any longer for—I grabbed one of the thick brown plates and handed him one, taking the other for myself, and began to load it up with food, tasting as I went. There were chicken wings with buffalo sauce, celery sticks with dip, potato chips, pretzels, pizza, hot dogs, chili, and just about everything you could imagine for a tailgate party. Except football, of course. I laughed as I accidentally spilled some of the chili on my fingers and Dean leaned over and licked it off my hand. “Do you think they’re going with a theme here?” I asked.

He nodded, then took enormous bites out of the relish-covered hot dog in his hand. “They’re going to see how sick they can make us,” he said around bites.